


The 5 Years Wait

by kurikku



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 06:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20169331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurikku/pseuds/kurikku
Summary: How Claude copes during the 5 years time skip waiting for Byleth.





	The 5 Years Wait

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mitriko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mitriko/gifts).

> Happy belated birthday to my friend Mit <3  
Shoutout to u/VilifiedDillyBar for editing!

**YEAR 1**

Today marks the first year since the dreadful attack.

Being an outsider has its perks. For one, he could leave gatherings as if its second nature. The heir of the House Riegan slips away from the feast and envelopes himself in darkness. As much as he loves feasts, he could not say the same about the occasion-a funeral feast.

He has given the public enough of his time. He deserves some time for himself.

The chilly winds lick at the flames of the mounted lanterns, toying with his shadow to create an incoherent dance. The usual plastered smile begins to falter and his mouth takes a break from the tiring task of offering and accepting the tiring condolences. His steps become heavier from the long, weary day.

Once the sounds of chatter and mourning no longer reach his ears, he loosens his cravat and releases a long silent sigh. He will never get used to the rigidness of being a noble.

_Ha_. The corners of his mouth tip upwards at the thought. He is sure Lorenz would drop everything to lecture him about manners.

_Wonder why didn't Teach host etiquette lessons?_

He freezes and his eyes widen at the dangerous thought. That is one place his mind cannot afford to slip to. Yet, he thinks of her daily.

Thus, his long lasting twenty two minutes record of not thinking of her has reset back to zero.

With his eyes cast downwards, he rubs away the goosebumps that have appeared on his skin and heads towards his bedchamber.

* * *

Moonlight slides through his curtains, unable to light the room fully. The tower of books stood tall and scattered like a maze. Skillfully, he heads to the wall apestry of the world map.

Yellow coloured pins mark his fellow classmates whereabouts, scattered all around Leicester Alliance territory.

Generally, everyone is safe. Even Marianne and Lysithea, who are keeping a low profile.

At the edge of the left border, Lorenz's father has been forced into complying with the Empire's wishes of borrowing their troops and land. He knows that Lorenz's family is in a difficult situation. However, Claude trusts Lorenz is in a stable position as he has accessed the Empire is unable to hurt them without suffering great loss.

Meanwhile, the rest of his classmates are taking care of their family and friends the best they can. Sometimes, he hears of Hilda helping her brother out on the battlefield too much to his dismay.

Claude clicks his tongue, too focused on the error in his map to notice the lingering taste of his dinner.

There is one missing pin. The one he misses the most. He plucks the purple pin from a container and lets his hand wander around the map.

He had been keeping his ears out for her whereabouts, particularly the out-of-reach Adrestian Empire and the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. However, there were no confirmed sights on her at all despite her unmissable unique hair colour.

He withdraws his hand, pulling the pin closer to his chest.

_Where are you now?_

The only confirmation that he had was his own. In the memory of mayhem and violence that the Empire wrought across Garreg Mach, it was the last place he had last seen her.

His hand hovers over it longingly.

The remnant church members faithfully wait for their Archbishop to return. Occasionally, bandits disturb their search and force them out of the monastery.

_If Teach was there, she would have driven them all out._

Knowing her, she would contribute to retaliation in any way she could. Maybe she had been injured and could not be deployed.

Nevertheless, he predicts the church would use her if she is there. That sort of selfish mindset does not elude him too.

Every scheme Claude comes up with includes Byleth, especially as his trump card. He knows he needs to stop including her in his plans but he found it impossible.

And impossible does not exist in his dictionary.

Naturally, he cannot expose any of those thoughts or plans to anyone. The last thing the Alliance needs to hear is their heir going mad from grief.

Claude pushes his hair back, his fingers fiddling around for his braid. However, he cannot find it.

He is tired of losing things.

Suppressing his groans, he tramples to the dresser. He knocks over the piles of books blocking his way and almost loses his footing. Getting a hold of himself, he presses one hand against the mirror and catches his breath. Amidst the foggy mirror, it reflects someone unrecognisable-himself. He looks too forlorn. Plain black and white are not his style. He yanks his cravat and coat off, desperate for his usual yellow. He scrambles for his yellow cape, draping it over his shoulders like a blanket. He cannot find his hair tie, hence using a temporary rubber band to tie his messy braid.

Suddenly, Claude's breath hitches at the long shadow cast on him. He swirls his head towards the window, realising a bat had stopped for a while before flying off.

_...What am I doing?_

His shoulder slouches and he faces the mirror again. The fog has dissipated, revealing a clearer reflection. He runs his cold and callous fingers on the dark circles under his eyes. They are almost as dark as Marianne's.

_When was the last time I slept?_

Claude rests his head against the mirror, letting the cold surface cool his head. He has been losing track of time. Sometimes, he cannot even find the time to do his tiny braid. And most of all, he cannot believe it has been a year since she has disappeared.

_"_I'm sorry for your loss of the professor, Claude."

He slams the mirror with his fist and the mirror vibrates vigorously. Earlier, someone had approached him. She was mourning for the loss of the Garreg Mach's students and teachers, inclusive of Byleth.

"Normally, those reported missing after a few months are... I'm sorry for your loss Claude."

More soon followed, expressing their condolences for her.

He slams the mirror again, louder this time.

And the sickest thing of all? He smiled through it, thanking them for their well wishes.

Smiled through it all like a darn fool.

Cracks form on the mirror, yet he does not stop slamming. Each word of discomfort was a blow to his chest. He grits his teeth and his whole body begins to tremble.

"_I know that we'll meet again."_

Similar to a broken dam, his emotions rushed forth in the form of sobs. He replays the last words he mentioned to her in his mind.

"_I hold fast to the belief that this isn't it for us."_

There are four more years until the promised class reunion. The professor did promise she would meet.

"_No matter who or what you really are, I'll always be on your side."_

She never breaks her promises.

"_You cannot count much on this world but you can count on this."_

Byleth would never. Never. Never. Never-

"Claude. To unclench your fist, do you apply the same amount of force or even more?"

Claude's knees give up and he slides down to the floor. Unable to control his trembling mouth, he shakes his head.

"That's right. You relax. And that's how you let go."

He looks at his trembling hands. His vision is blurred with his tears. Then, those warm tears splash on his hands. Steadying his breath, he slowly uncurls his fist.

"Thank you, Teach."

Claude thanks the imaginary advice that Byleth would have given and a chuckle escapes his lips.

_Am I going mad? No._

He was never bound to common sense in the first place.

And he will be okay.

Because his Teach is not normal nor ordinary but extraordinary.

* * *

**YEAR 2**

Ascending to the skies is not as difficult as raising in rank.

The head of the Alliance sneaks away onto his wyvern, soaring high above.

He loves long rides in the night skies where naggings and rumours cannot reach him. The comfort of the stars above reminds him how small and achievable his dreams are.

Claude used to imagine what flying around Leichester would be like, especially the view of its flora and fauna. Many lush forests filled with life where monkeys would swing from branches to branches and various colourful birds soar along with him. Their amusing gibbering and chirping could be heard from afar and he chirped his joy too. The breeze spread its lovely greenery everywhere with its aromatic scents and pollens. Then, he would lay down on his wyvern's back, raising his hands in the air with soft feathers brushing against them.

Now, the fields stand empty but for a few derelict buildings.

He oversees the demolished fortresses below. Hastily built brick walls crumbled from destructive magic. The soils turned infertile and are mostly littered with broken armours and corpses. The only living things left are thieves who scavenge for survival.

While his life long dream is to tear down the walls that segregate the nations, he never wished for this.

_Bloodshed... so much bloodshed._

Likewise to a game of chess, sacrifices have to be made. While Claude may agree to some means to an end, unnecessary slaughter was never his style. Those lives lost were more than just pawns. He sighs as the gurgling feeling returns in his chest. Could this be prevented if he befriended Edelgard? The endless possibilities assault his mind but he tries not to focus on the past. What is done, is done.

He needs to look forward, or in this case downwards.

The strategist knows flying in bright colours in the middle of the night during the war is never a bright idea. Yet, he has this feeling that the person he is searching for might be drawn to it.

He never leaves things to chances after all.

Claude tightens his grip on his bow. His eyes are getting heavier but he fights to keep them open. It is not the time to see her in his dreams.

He is beginning to think that the professor never left because she is always on his mind. He thinks back to the compliments he gave her. How natural it was to give them. How easy it was to be fascinated by her.

She did not dismiss them nor did she accept them. Did she even realise he was flirting with her at times?

Nevertheless, he hoped to stand as her equal, starting with calling her as his friend when she was beyond that.

And though he was relentless with his attempts to win over her companionship, it was not fair to enchant him so easily with those unexpected smiles of hers.

He digs his face onto his mount. Its scales poking his pink tinted cheeks. The wind tousling his hair and cape about. It almost ate his whisper.

"Sorry my friend, let me rest my eyes and heart for a while."

The wyvern almost seemed to nod as it continues flying without any ruckus.

Flying has been a skill that he wanted to focus at school. A compulsory rite of passage for young Almyran men which he wanted to ace.

_But it feels like I learnt how to fly because of you._

Byleth did listen to his request on learning flying and axes. While she could not change his study plan, she compromised with appointing him to fly with his classmates every Saturday. He got to see her small figure from the skies, just like the stars above. It became his favourite day of the week.

No matter how small she may appear, he is sure he can find her from afar.

Nevertheless, flying all around Leicester has not been entirely unfruitful. It helps him survey and memorises the areas for his strategies.

It seems there is a path that he remembers by heart.

Without realising it, he finds himself around the monastery. Claude pulls the reins and lands on the edge of the cliff. Tree branches are crunched underneath its claws. A few had rolled off the cliff, disappearing without a sound. He looks down and finds the chasm staring back at him.

Then, he contemplates putting those rumours of her falling in there to rest.

Above all, he has already fallen for her and his love is deeper than the abyss.

* * *

**YEAR 3**

Among all the books he owns, her father's diary is his favourite. Which, in hindsight, may be the weirdest thing he has admitted to himself.

He never leaves anywhere without his weapons and his diary. When he had difficulties sleeping or just needed a distraction, he flips it open for a quick pick-me-up. Those dog-earred ones are always the ones he finds himself sucked into.

"Rawwwgghh."

"You want to read it too, Ashen?"

He grew  so fond of the nickname Byleth earned before she became a teacher, 'Ashen Demon', that he names his wyvern after it.  Or, perhaps, he grew too fond of her and needed an excuse to say any form of her name.

Ashen nods and attempts to bite it off his hands. It almost succeeded if he was a second slower.

"Woah, watch it friend. I had a hard time obtaining this, you know."

He remembered bowing a lot, begging for the diary from her. He was already thinking of ways to slip into her room in the middle of the night just to steal it. He hoped he did not have to come to that.

Thankfully, she gave in and he did not have to face the wrath of Jeralt’s ghost.

It was clear that Jeralt loved her dearly. Everything after his romance was all about his daughter.

Claude's heart flutters upon reading her childhood.

Byleth's first errand at the tender age of 8 was to bring in the dirty dishes in an inn's kitchen. Jeralt had left her under his friend's care as he went to Leonie's village for mercenary work. His advice for her before leaving was, "Clearing them is an important job. The more you can carry, the lesser rounds you need to make."

Apparently, she took his advice to heart, stacking and balancing piles of dishes before heading to the kitchen. She truly believed she could manage it. Unfortunately, she slipped and the dishes came crashing down.

Thankfully, the plates and bowls were all made from plastic and she smelled of fresh strawberries afterwards from a well deserved bubble bath afterwards.

_Who knew the seemingly perfect Teach caused such slippery trouble? Heh._

Byleth never cried despite the pain. Civilians and mercenaries witnessed her bravery and unflinching resolve on the battlefields gave her the infamous nickname. It felt as if she was born to be a mercenary. Jeralt was not sure whether to be proud of that.

When her father tried teaching her non-combat materials, it usually fell short. She showed indifference towards everything. At least, that was what he thought initially.

He took his time to understand her. The subtle difference that only those trained eyes could notice were there.

In terms of interest, foraging was her favourite hobby. She would let her curiosity get the best of her, from following deer trails to chewing wild mushrooms.

Claude shakes his head. A goofy smile spreads across his face. No wonder she did not mind testing his mild poison potions. She must have been immune to them already.

In terms of fear, giraffes scared her. She had seen one eating bare bones live. While her face remained indifferent, she could not bear to look at it. Jeralt could not blame her. He dared not to look at it too. Nobody spoke about it.

"Well Ashen, there's a conversation starter right there."

And of course, Claude wants to talk about it.

To no one's surprise, her life was not a rosy one.

Byleth had never made friends. Her lack of social cues awareness and expressions made her unapproachable and avoided. She never stayed in one place for too long too. The least her father could teach her was to hold proper conversations with merchants.

Before she learned how to write, she learned the way of the sword. She picked up the sword upon watching her father practice. At first, Jeralt has confiscated it away, fearing she might hurt herself. However, she practised in secret with a tree branch, hunting rabbits down with it. She did a bad job of hiding her scratches, claiming she simply fell a lot. Oddly enough, Jeralt believed it. The norm did not apply for his girl after all.

It was on a sleepless night when Jeralt found her missing from her bed. He went on a frantic search for her and would have missed her if he did not notice the strange broken twigs near a hole. Young Byleth had fallen into a pitfall. She hugged her knees with her eyes closed. In front of her, there was a rabbit penetrated with blunt twigs.

Jeralt called out her name and she flinched. She stared at him blankly and pointed to the rabbit. Without hesitation, he jumped into the hole. He hugged her close and asked her to explain herself.

It turned out she wanted to prove that she could be useful as those mercenaries he worked with so she could tag along with his work. He could not find his voice and hoped that his hug could convey what he meant.

A few years later, Jeralt apologised for leading her to the life of a lonely mercenary. She said she did not understand because she never felt lonely with him always by her side.

Claude puts the diary down, blinking away his wet eyes for a while.

_I'm glad you got your father._

His own father was harsh on him. He was told to stand up for himself when he was suffering. Young Claude was despised by everyone around him for being born just because his mother was a daughter of the enemy.

One should not have to yell and fight to stay alive, especially when they are innocent. He truly believes that destroying the prejudice that has taken root in his homeland will solve the issue.

Imagine his shock when he realised the issue persists in Fodlan as well.

_Break down the walls and let a new perspective come rushing in! Start all over!_

That was his mantra for the past few years, and it still is.

If everyone starts treating each other as equals, he could have a happier and safer life. He would not have to explain himself at every little thing and run away.

_I'm sure Teach would love that too._

He does not hate his parents though. In fact, he admires how courageous his mother was. To have the guts to leave her home to pursue her love.

Because he would do the same.

It is such a big dream for him to accomplish it alone. He hopes she would walk with him together.

Claude closes the diary and strokes the weary cover. He keeps it close to his heart, eager for the day he could hear more about her in person instead of the old recounts.

* * *

**YEAR 4**

"She told you to fish?"

Claude nods with a twinkle in his eyes. From time to time, he shares a fond memory about the professor with those around him. It helps him remember she was real.

"Yeah, and I didn't believe her."

The first time he sought his teacher's advice was when he asked how he could distress himself from studying. Straight after class, she dragged him to a fishing session. He was indeed impressed.

Though, to be honest, he was more impressed that her rod did not need any reeling to catch the fish.

His retainer cackles, "She can do anything, eh?"

"Indeed, Nader."

"Didn't you say your teacher was a Santa Claus in disguise too?"

Claude strokes his shaven beard, pretending to be deep in thought.

"Teach always carried a sack around the school. The magical thing is that it's always full despite her always giving things out. The other houses even thought she was keeping dead bodies in there."

"Bahaha! Did she give anything to you?"

"Oh yeah, she did. Or rather, she returned something I lost."

Claude eyes the board game piece at the corner of his eye. The bishop piece sits on top of the stacks of papers on his table. It is not the piece that Byleth had returned as it was lost during the monastery attack but he will make do with the duplicate.

"Ah, sorry Nader. I need some time to go through the strategy for tonight."

"Aye I understand kiddo. Well you know where to find me."

Claude squints at the nickname and waves him away. He does not need to see his face to know he is smirking.

The strategist puts his hands behind his head, occasionally glancing at the door to make sure Nader has really left.

There are some things he keeps to himself. Jeralt's diary contents for example. Apparently, he had given Byleth the odd pair of stockings which he remarked that she liked it. However, Seteth clearly did not. He had scolded him for the horrendous flimsy outfit, claiming it to be unfit for school nor combat and saw to it that she changed into something proper. That was how Byleth obtained a new outfit within her first few days of work.

_Today, you turn 25._

Claude takes a sip of his chamomile tea. It has turned cold but it does not douse the warm feeling in his chest. He had bought lots of chamomile tea bags the other day, reminiscing the fond tea parties he had with her. It was one of the rare occasions he blushed around her.

He wants to gift her too. Uncapping his pen, he begins to write.

_Are you surprised I figured out your age for the 4th time now? Or are you pouting now because I didn't show you the first three letters in the first place? Well since I'm feeling professor-y, let me explain again how I deduced your age-the year your mother died was the year your dad left with you. Oh. I just killed the mood didn't I?_

He spins his pen. Spending all his time strategising and talking of only combat has made his social skills rusty.

_Now I think I know Hilda's frustration in writing letters. Oh, it's not because I don't want to write to you. No no, it's not a chore. It’s just difficult without any interactions to go off of from the last few years. By the way, I was thinking of what to gift to you this year. I met Raphael the other day and he advised me to make a trinket made of stuff like tusks and claws. Well, I didn't say it's for you but... would you actually like it Teach? ... I have a feeling you wouldn't._

A groan fills up the room. He drops the pen and contemplates trashing the paper. Another groan escapes his lips at the sight of his trash bin. It is overflowing with his failed poetry. If he did regret crumbling one, it was the one with the really neat big letter T. He spent 2 hours on that.

At this rate, he is going nowhere. He needs to clear up his room first.

"Ashen? Come here pal!"

Claude opens his windows and yells for his friend. Ashen comes flying outside in no time, already accustomed to its cleaning duty.

"Alright, here goes. Fire it up!"

He flings all the crumbled papers outside in a single throw and his faithful wyvern burns them up into crisp.

_Nothing like a clean room to clear your mind._

He proudly disregards the scattered notes and papers on his floor. Right now, the most important thing is to remove all embarrassing evidence.

Claude waves his friend goodbye as he flops back to his seat. He pushes his hair back and stares at his pen. He is not a writer. He prefers to improvise his speech when it comes down to it. Feeling lazy, he drafts his letter in his mind.

_Earlier this year, I saw Ignatz at the armoury. Not only his hair has grown but his confidence too! I told him that you would be proud of his growth and he chuckled shyly at that. When I asked him if he still remembers how you look like, he nodded and frankly, I'm jealous. Ignatz has an artistic eye for detail and he's great at drawing without reference. He offers a drawing of you which I rejected. Oh, it's not that I don't think he can capture your beauty. It's the opposite of that. His drawing would make me think of a formal portrait... as if you're a dead person being worshipped._

He blows his fringe up and his finger finds its way to the bishop piece. He holds it tightly.

_I didn't tell him I still think you're alive. It's too risky. I tried telling that to Leonie last year and she didn't want to talk about you at all. It's as if... you became a taboo. I'm even afraid to drop hints about you around Lysithea. You know how she fears ghost, right? Well, it's irrational._

_Irrational that they consider you dead._

Claude stands up, making his way to the world map tapestry. There are still a lot of holes in it, tracking his friends' movements. His eyes steel at the untouched purple pin. Each day he hopes will be the day that he can finally put that purple pin on the map.

_Don't worry my friend, I know I'll see you next year. Those_ _tea bags won't finish by themselves, you know._

* * *

**YEAR 5**

Claude finds himself counting down to midnight. Today is the awaited day where all his patience will bear fruit.

Ashen sits close to him, wrapping him up with its tail. He has been pacing around the Goddess Tower all jittery and now he is sitting crossed leg.

_If I can wait five years, what's a day to me?_

Everything apparently.

Every movement that he hears sends him on the edge. He jumps to his toes, anxious for her arrival.

Claude cannot wait to see her.

For the past five years, he was unable to share his plans about her to anyone except Ashen. Every scheme for the future includes her, even his backup plans.

For there is not a future he envisions without her.

How would she look like now? Will her hair be longer? Or perhaps shorter? Maybe she might have gotten another pair of outrageous stockings.

His image of her always falls back to how he remembers her long ago. Happy and alive.

Byleth had always believed in him, no matter how crazy his plans sound. She even let him touch the sword of creator just from his casual request and stood by his side whenever he needed it. Except for the past five years.

Those long, lonely five years.

He clenches his chest, feeling the void inside. What if he had been wrong all these times? What if she was really dead?

Would he be able to move on if she was?

He takes a deep breath, slowly uncurling his fist.

The night is still young.

_School doesn't start until morning after all, eh Teach?_


End file.
